


A Dark and Sinister Man

by GoldenGardenias



Category: Peter Pan & Related Fandoms, Peter Pan - J. M. Barrie
Genre: Cover Art, Gen, alexander vlahos - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-09-16 22:32:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16962714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenGardenias/pseuds/GoldenGardenias
Summary: I'm not completely sure how to summarize this... Basically, I found a muse in Alex Vlahos' portrayal of Captain Hook. Which, of course, I've never seen. But this happened anyway- it's a sort of biography, brief snippets of the life he may have had before Neverland and what blackened his heart and started that self-loathing I've seen and read previously.





	A Dark and Sinister Man

**Author's Note:**

> I hope this doesn't suck too badly. Feedback is greatly appreciated!

 

22 March, 1872

The sounds of a baby screaming had replaced its mother’s cries of agony nine hours after they had begun. He was as small, fragile thing; born a week before he’d been expected and at great cost to the woman who bore him. She’d held the tiny bundle close to her heart, dark curls slicked to her face and piercing blue eyes full of love. Exhausted and bleeding, she paid no mind to the midwife and her assistant as they hurried to save her. It was of little use but young Emily was at peace, her purpose had been fulfilled now that she’d brought her first and only child into the world. She named the precious darling with a tuft of thick black hair, ‘James’ after her father.

“Sleep my baby on my bosom. Warm and cosy will it prove,” Emily sang soft and sweet to him, even as she leaned further back against the headboard. The babe was silent, as if somehow he knew just how precious these few moments were. “Round thee mother’s arms are folding. In her heart a mother’s love…”

A second verse was never sung as the brave nineteen-year-old breathed her last, her baby’s head pillowed against her breast as his little ears listened to her heartbeat fade away. The room grew silent, the sound of the grandfather clock in the far corner was the only noise to be heard.

*

15 November, 1877

Little James watched the minute hand of the mantle clock tick far too slowly around and round its face. A sickly child raised by nannies and wet nurses, he already showed signs of a vibrant mind and vivid imagination. Already he impressed with comprehension and could read better than others who were twice his senior. Though at the moment his eager mind could not focus on anything more than the torturous countdown to his father’s return home.

Three weeks, Lord Byron Ellington had been gone on his honeymoon with the twenty-four-year-old Constance Shaffield, who now shared the middle-aged man’s surname. The small boy was eager to meet his new mother, having never known his own but of whom he held a locket portrait of on his person at all times. His Governess had fielded his questions for the past week and a half a best she could:

“Do you think my new mother will be beautiful?”  
-“Oh, I’m sure she is indeed lovely, Master James.”  
“Do you think she’ll read me adventure stories before bed?”  
-”If she’s any sense to her, she won’t. You get too riled up after an adventure.”  
“Nanny- do you think she’ll play games with me?”  
-”Oh, of course, darling. It’s what a mother does. I’m sure she will love you and keep you as any mother would. Now back to your studies, child.”

Nanny was a grey-haired, round woman with rosy cheeks and a pleasant countenance. She’d taken care of countless children over her many years, but little James was perhaps her favorite. So keen and bright, kind and attentive… so very much like his mother. For that, she was thankful, as his father was a cold and bitter man who one could scarcely look in the eye. She often feared his harshness towards the boy would leave him much the same, but it seemed while James had the smallest bit of compassion shown to him, he flourished like a flower in the warm glow of the sun.

That night at dinner, Constance had been nothing short of blithe and charming. While all would pale in comparison to his own mother’s memory, his father’s new bride was a comely, curvaceous woman. Her hair aflame and eyes like emerald stones, she kept her appearance impeccable, not a ribbon or button out of place. It was as the meal reached its end, that James’ father announced he’d be leaving the next day for business. While his wife protested, the boy remained tellingly silent- in truth the lad relished the idea of having his new parent all to himself. No father to ruin all the games they would play.

Early the next morning, the two saw Lord Byron Ellington off; both smiling and waving as the carriage rolled away from the grand home in which they lived. The rest of the morning was uneventful, the two went their separate ways for Constance to settle in and James to attend his lessons with Nanny. It was not until midday when his Governess had given him leave to burn off all that pent up energy that the child had gathered up his favourite toys, the most cherished among them was a model ship with linen sails and a wheel that spun around. All were toted in his arms to the room Constance had made her own, boxes and chests still stacked in varying forms up unpacked, the woman herself in the middle of it all, ordering the staff to their purpose. 

“Mummy! Mummy look! I’ve brought all the best ones! Please play with me…” The little boy with a mess of ruffled black curls went bounding into the room, forget-me-not blue eyes wide and filled with excitement. The timing was unfortunate, however, as he collided with a maid nearly dead on. An armful of toys and tray of expensive perfume bottles went crashing to the floor as the occupants of the room looked on in horror. There was a uniform sigh of relief from the staff as none were broken, the bearskin rug had cushioned their fall. Both James and the maid quickly knelt to pick up the minor mess.

“You stupid, stupid boy!” Constance raged as she hurried over and snatched the child up by his thick curls, the staff frozen in their place and unsure the course of action meant to be taken. James winced as his step-mother’s grip tighten and her nails dug into his scalp, “Have you any idea how expensive those are!?”

“I’m sorry, Mummy! It was an accident! I’m s-” The words were cut off by a sharp pain as Constance’s hand came across his cheek with audible force. The boy fell silent, small fingers raised to cover the reddening mark on his pale face, shocked into a stupor with the rest of the room.

“Never call me that. You killed your mother, I am not her.” The woman relinquished her hold on the child, only to snatch up James’ coveted model ship. The little boy’s eyes welled up as he watched his father’s new wife snap the sails and toss the lot of it into the fire heating her room.

James cried out and ran, arms outstretched towards the flames. It was only just in time, that Nanny charged in and took him up as his tiny fingers plunged towards the heat. The gentle woman hushed him while apologizing to the Mistress of the house and backed them from the room. She’d sung to him, as James sobbed himself into an exhausted slumber.

*

14 December, 1888

The cold whipped around him as he stepped from the rickety wooden coach. A young man now, James was lean and fair. There was a youthful flush to the porcelain cheeks that still retained some of their roundness. A beautiful boy to behold, but those fine features were marred by his severe expression, yet those bright eyes still held the same hopeful twinkle of a dreamer. Time had loosened his curls, which fell relaxed around his visage like a halo of raven’s feathers- dark and lustrous.

Ten years prior his step-mother had convinced his father it was time to send him away to school, not an uncommon age to do so, yet it had been a shock all the same. Eton was a stern school that believed wholly in corporal punishment and a strict constitution. The beatings were frequent for a clumsy boy with a penchant for flights of fancy. The life had been harsh, but it was almost at its end. A few more months and he’d begin to apprentice his father; though, try as he might, James had no heart for trade.

Chilled fingers of his left hand snapped shut the silver pocket watch he’d been staring at most of the journey, counting down the seconds until he’d be home. While he did not look forward to his father’s judgemental remarks or Constance’s scornful glances, there was one thing he did look forward to…

“Jamie!” The little blond boy greeted his older brother gleefully, words slurred and steps unsteady as the toddler did his best to run.

“Harry.” His cold demeanour instantly warmed as he scooped the child into his arms, then spun him about and was rewarded by shrill giggles of delight. “And where are your mother and my father?”

Henry pointed towards their father’s study and James nodded in understanding. The adults momentarily forgotten, the dark-haired youth brought his baby brother upstairs to the child’s room. Where they played with toy soldiers and James shared adventures he’d read about in books. 

While Byron held little regard for either son, Constance doted upon her own flesh and blood. This often left James excluded. Even that year, the only gift he received come Christmas morning, had been one sent to him through the post from Nanny. He’d not seen the woman since she’d said her goodbyes to him at the train station, the only one who had come to see him off. She still sent him a letter and a new book each and every holiday. That year had been a swashbuckling tale of pirates and he’d spent a good part of the evening reading it aloud to young Henry as they lay in the toddler’s bed together.

*

4 April, 1892

“It is a smart match and she is comely enough, I see no reason for hesitance.” Constance was the first to chime in.

“I do not love her, Lady Ellington.” Was James’ firm reply as he stared down at his plate, attempting to continue on with his supper.

“Since when does love have anything to do with marriage, boy? I have arranged everything with her father and the two of you will be wed come fall.” Byron’s fist came down against the table top, it caused the dishes to clatter and it’s occupants to startle.

James’ jaw clenched visibly, brilliant blues risked a glance at his little brother, who looked as though he wished to be anywhere but there at the moment. Not that anyone could blame him. When the twenty-year-old spoke again, it was with a cold calmness, “I won’t be here in the fall.”

“What!? What on earth does that mean?” Byron snapped and all eyes were on the heir to the Ellington trade industry.

“I will be far from here by that time, Lord Ellington- because I have put my lot in with Her Majesty’s Royal Navy and leave for training in a fortnight. Within a month, I shall be on a vessel and doing my bit to defend the empire.” There was something akin to pride in his voice, spine straightening as he squared his shoulders and fixed his father with a look of defiance. 

“You’re going to make a fool out of me? I gave Lord Lindenstern my word-” The portly man’s face was beet red with anger, one might have half expected fumes to rise from his ears.

“You’re word, not mine. My vow has already been given, sir.” The words were simply put as James absently scratched at the hair along his jaw. There was a strange calm that overtook him, knowing that no matter the outcome, he would no longer have to live under this tyrant’s rule.

The sense of pride he’d felt was quickly washed away, however, when James glanced towards his little brother. How could a child of six be capable of such a look of betrayal and scorn? They were close, James loved Henry more than anything else in the world- but there was not a moment under his father’s heavy hand that he was not miserable. Soon Harry would be off to school, just as he’d been at that age and there would be nothing left here for him. James knew in his heart, that if he did not go, he’d be the same miserable wretch his father had become. He couldn’t bear the thought of it, just as he couldn’t bear the sound of the coo-coo clock as it filled the silence left behind for the remainder of their meal.

*

7 July 1899

The sea was choppy and the winds were harsh, James was distantly aware that he was no longer on his own vessel. The attack had come suddenly in the night, one moment the waters were calm and the next black sails emerged from the cannon fire. They were outgunned, outmanned and outmanoeuvred- they’d never stood a chance. Neck length waves of black had been slicked back against his head, but now fell in salted swirls about his face. His shoulders ached and his wrists bruised from being bound behind him so very long. Blood clung to his brow the way that the shame did to his soul.

James had begged. Lined up in a row on their knees as the pirate captain took stock, the Naval officer had pleaded that he be spared and they had- along with ten other sturdy lads. The journey had been arduous, the wound to his head left his skull throbbing and called forth what he was certain were hallucinations. At one point, James had been sure the very ship under him had taken to the skies and navigated through the stars. Yet when he woke, they were quite heavily in the water and sailing into an impressive cove.

“My dearest Harry. The words of your previous letter gave me much concern. Surely you do not hate me. I know you feel abandoned, but rest assured you are never far from my heart...” James’ head shot up as he heard his own words being read back to him, the cruel grin on the Captain’s face told him this was meant to be a form of torture. The man had a large, bushy beard and one milky eye that James wasn’t confident held any sight. “Your lover? Writing letters to your sodomist-”

“My brother.” James snapped before the man could utter anything further. Though he instantly regretted it as man’s sneer only widened.

“Brother, you say? Little wonder he hates you- no one really loves a coward. Ashamed of you, more like.”

It didn’t last long, the torment this worthless pirate sought to subject him to. In fact, only one month as a seemingly loyal and snivelling cabin boy did the trick. Because James was clever and not to be trifled with, he would never allow himself to be degraded as he’d been all those years prior. He’d relished the look of surprise on the old Captain’s face as he’d plunged the dinner knife through the man’s chest and deep into his heart. When he’d emerged from the cabin, hands stained crimson and announced himself the new captain of the Jolly Roger, there was not a spineless scallywag amongst them that dared to protest.

Yet the position was scarcely better when the company was considered. Dull and tedious, the whole lot of them. Not one amongst them who thought to take initiative, good for no more than to be ordered around. Still- James had his freedom and a crew who feared him far too much to defy him. Perhaps his father had been right all along, better to be feared than to be loved. And maybe it was why that boy and his insufferable shadow curled their way under his skin so badly. The mocking and the disrespect, James could no longer stomach it.

“You are not the mere child you claim to be.” Captain James panted as he narrowly side-stepped a lunge. They’d been at it for hours, too equally matched for the outcome to be certain.

“Of course I’m not, old man. But who here is what they seem?” The child laughed and spun quickly to catch the Pirate Captain as he regained himself. 

Peter swung downward as James raised up his left arm to shield himself from the blow. What had started as a frivolous argument over the boy’s mischievous nature, had escalated so much quicker than either had imagined. Pan had stolen into the Captain’s quarters and stolen the clock from his bedside, only to make a show of tossing it to the crocodiles that lurked in the far side of the cove. Now, James was left clutching the bloodied stump to his chest and watched in horror as his severed hand was given the same treatment as the timepiece. Tossed overboard, a massive crocodile rose from the water and snapped it’s impressive jaws around the appendage, swallowing it whole.

Even from the depths and through the searing pain like he’d never felt before, James was aware of the ticking. Could hear it even as the loss of blood forced him to lose consciousness, even in the fevered dreams he had long after.

*

Present

“Smee, you worthless blackguard, be gone with you!” Hook roared as he hurled the now empty bottle of rum towards the fleeing second mate. A heavy sigh escaped the man as he slouched forward over the thick wooden railing of the ship, bright eyes scanning the depths of the water illuminated by the light of the full moon. He half expected to see the silhouette of that loathsome reptile circling the Jolly Roger, as it was wont to do at the most irksomely random times. Yet even as he strained his ears to listen, Hook heard no sign of that tell-tale ticking that alerted him of the creature’s presence.

“What would you think of me now, dear brother mine?” The man spoke out to no one in particular. The deck was bare, the only soul far above in the crow’s nest, ever watchful eye on the horizon. Iron hook gleamed against the moonbeams as he absently ran the metal against the smoothed oak of the bannister. In the far distance mermaids’ fins breached the surface and broke the stifling silence that threatened to overtake him. “No less hated, I should imagine. No less a villain in any tale. But so much less than I could have ever believed possible.”

“Who is this old man reflected at me?” Those forget-me-not blues stared down at the shadowed image of himself on the rippling surface of the ocean. Inky tresses fell just passed his shoulders, eyes were lined with kohl and heart blackened with time. For all the world could surround him, the hustle and bustle of ship life- yet he was ever alone. The solitude was maddening, the darkness in his soul enough to cloud out the youthful spark he’d once had. “In the cold depths, the boy I was, bloated and unrecognizable. The selfishness of youth, delusions of grandeur… washed away like so many nights at sea. Leaving behind only me.”


End file.
